I was six years old when the world of underwater somersaults and handstands and cannonballs was finally opened up to me. At my next door neighbor's pool, I learned to swim in the humidity of southeast Texas. Armed with enough towels and swimming paraphernalia to last a lifetime, I'd tentatively dip my toes in the pool. I had one of those swimsuits outfitted with removable six air-filled floaties and every week, my dad would take out one as I ventured farther and farther into the water. And then one day, Dad took out the last floatie without telling me and I jumped in the pool and discovered I could suddenly swim. I would kick extra fast through the deep end, due to a irrational fear of giant squid lurking at the bottom.
I've become boring now and just sit in the pool and read, but I've gotten to watch each of my siblings discover the same joys that I did. There isn't a non-swimmer in the family now and I get the greatest joy watching the littles do the dead man's float, their hair swaying every which way in the water. I sure am going to miss spending afternoons at the pool when summer ends...